Fly for Supper
By Don Iannone

Tiny spider,
Tiny spider,
How stealthfully you crawl,
Across the floor and on up the wall,
You spin a quick web to snare your prey,
I'd guess you do this six times a day,
You sit so still, the whole time you stare,
Awaiting the big-eyed fly perched on the chair,
Somehow you know just when he will fly,
And land on the wall oh so high,
The fly flaps his wings starting his flight,
You imagine his landing perfectly right,
Off guard you catch him, he lands in your web,
And he is your supper just like I said.